Betrothal
by Katharin the Dragon
Summary: The new minister of magic makes a decree which lands Hermione in a world of trouble. Ron resolves to help her. She is caught between a lion and a snake. Set in 7th-year. Post-OotP, so expect spoilers. RWHG Loosely based on a challenge by Chelleybean
1. The Daily Prophet

**Betrothal**

  
  


_Author's note: I found this adorable plot bunny running around on another ship. So the story is not original, and I tip my hat to the originator of the plot. But I thought it would be lovely in R/H. Please enjoy and let me know of any improvements that can be made._

It was a crisp, clear October morning, snap-cold and brilliantly sunny. Perfect quidditch weather. Ron was darting between goal posts, blocking unseen quaffles, humming a quiet strain of "Weasley is our King." If Draco Malfoy and his entourage were sitting on the sidelines imitating him, well, it wouldn't be any worse than the upcoming game.

Ron took a deep breath, sighed and landed. He was as ready as he was going to get. He threw his broom casually over his shoulder and walked by the Slytherin gang without looking over. Draco nodded to his friends and stood up to follow him.

"Ready for the game, Weasel?"

"I'm always ready to squash your arse at Quidditch, Malfoy."

"You wish."

"Haven't actually beat Harry to the Snitch yet, have you?"

Draco sneered but said nothing.

Ron stopped at the door to the Gryffindor changing room. "Why are you following me, Draco?"

"Oh, no reason." Draco smirked. "How's your mudblood girlfriend, Weasel?"

Ron sighed. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"What? Even the mudblood won't have you? Just as well. You wouldn't be able to scrape up the galleons, anyway." Draco grinned maddeningly.

"What the hell are you on about?"

"You are Pureblood, though, aren't you, Weasel? It's kind of hard to tell from looking atyou. Your mother looks dumb enough to-"

Ron's face turned red. "What's the hell is your point, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, then started to walk away. "If you don't know, I'm not going to be the one to tell you. I'm not the type to raise false hope in my inferiors, anyway. See you on the quidditch pitch." He saluted Ron, then sauntered away.

Ron slammed his broom into it's place in the dressing room, threw on a school robe, and headed to the great hall for breakfast.

  
  


"Ron, you smell," Hermione greeted him. She was eating a large pile of buttered toast, with an open book next to her plate. She smiled warmly at him.

"Good morning to you," he said, relaxing enough to smile. "G'morning, Harry, Ginny, everyone."

"She has a point," Harry said with a grin. "Where've you been?"

"Quidditch pitch," Ginny guessed.

"Right in one," Hermione said. "Hence the smell."

"Isn't it great to be surrounded by women, Harry? They do your homework for you, remind you of your daily hygeine, and even speak for you."

"Tuck in," Hermione commanded.

Ron obeyed. "Well, we haven't lost to Slytherin, yet," he said, trying to sound confident and piling his plate with eggs and toast.

"Not nervous, are you?" Harry asked. "They've got a fairly weak side this year. Crabbe and Goyle are all right as beaters, but Zabini is a terrible keeper."

"It's not their keeper I'm worried about, mate. It's their chasers."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her book.

"Hermione, breakfast is no time to read," Ginny teased. "What've you got there?"

"It's my tricktionary."

Now it was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "What are you reading a tricktionary, for anyway?"

"I'm not reading it," Hermione bristled. "It was the only thing I had in my bag."

"Well, here, read my homework instead."

"Ron!" Ginny scolded. Ron stuck his tongue out at his sister. Ginny grinned and stuck her tongue back out at him. "I'm going to tell mum you're cheating."

"I'm going to tell mum you're being a prat."

"I'm going to tell you both to shut it," Harry laughed.

"Don't make me separate you two," Hermione added. She smiled again at Ron.

Ron paused. "Hey, why are you... er, not reading your tricktionary?" he asked seriously.

"I'm trying to ignore Malfoy. He's making eyes at me." Hermione answered, suddenly avoiding his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"You heard me. Malfoy is making eyes at me. It's dead annoying. But it's not that big of a deal, Ron, don't make that face at me."

"Would you like me to go and pummel him for you?"

"Yeah, try that," Hermione answered. "Seriously, it's nothing. It's not like he can hurt me right here in the great hall."

"Fine, but don't expect me to let you go out to the library by yourself."

Ginny chuckled and whispered something to Harry. Harry grinned and nodded at her. 

Suddenly a fluttering of wings announced the morning mail. A business-like slate-colored owl brought Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet. Errol dropped a package into Ron's lap, then landed himself on Ginny. Ginny stroked his scruffy head.

Ron tore greedily into the package. "Cakes from mum. One for each of us." He handed a small green cake shaped like a dragon to Harry. "Even you, mate."

Harry grinned. "Excellent."

Ginny laughed. "Look, there's a book-shaped one for you, Hermione."

Hermione smiled from behind her paper. "That's lovely. Tell her thank you for me, won't you?"

"Mmhmmm," Ginny nodded. 

"Anything interesting in the paper, Hermione?"

"Well... not really. The new minister of magic is trying awfully hard to please the pure bloods, though. I think he's trying to keep them on his side. I don't like it."

"I wish Dumbledore had taken the job," Ginny said softly.

"I don't, then," Ron retorted. "What if they had given us Umbridge back for a headmistress?"

"Ron, Umbridge is in Azkaban! Honestly, don't you read?"

Ron grinned. "Don't need to, you always keep me up to date."

Ginny frowned suddenly. "He just said your name again."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded.

"Third time this morning."

Hermione folded up the Daily Prophet and tucked it under her arm. "I'm going to the library."

Ron stood up to follow her. "All right, then, let's go."

Suddenly, Hermione was stone-faced. "Ron, you're not coming with me."

"I'm not kidding. I'm not letting you go alone."

"I'm not kidding, either. If you want, Ginny can come with me."

"Oh." Ron's face fell. "All right then."

"It's a girl thing," Hermione added quickly. She gave Ginny a significant glance.

"Right," agreed Ginny quickly. "You would be bored, Ron."

"Don't be long, Ginny," Harry said. "We have to get ready for the game."

"We won't be long," Hermione promised.

They gathered their things and left. "What was that all about?" Ron asked. 

"No idea," Harry admitted.

"You don't think she fancies Draco, do you?" Ron asked seriously.

"Who, Ginny?"

"No! Hermione."

"Good lord, no, Ron. Everyone knows she fancies you," he teased.

Ron punched him on the shoulder. "I'm being serious, Harry. There's something going on with Draco."

"What do you mean?"

Ron relayed the story of Draco's unusual comments earlier.

"I wouldn't worry, Ron. There's no way she fancies him. He's an arse, Hermione knows that."

"Krum was an arse, too," Ron murmured.

"Come on. We've got to get ready."

Ron sighed.

"Ron. No thinking about girls. It's quidditch time."

Ron smiled. "Right you are."

  
  


In the library, Hermione pulled out the Daily Prophet again and showed it to Ginny. "Sorry to pull you away from Harry, Gin-" Hermione said.

Ginny blushed.

"-but it's really important."

"What's wrong?"

"This."

**Preservation Decree #78**  
_By Order of the Minister of Magic_  


* * *

Any pureblood male of age  
who can trace his line back 11 generations   
(with no muggle or muggle-born blood) may:  
As of this date, October 7:  
Select for the preservation of his family   
and the health of his bloodline,  
Any muggleborn female witch,   
(interested parties may contact the ministry for the full list)  
and, upon presentation of a brideprice of 400 galleons   
(200 galleons to the ministry and 200 galleons to the witch's father)  
may claim her as his betrothed until he sees fit to marry her.  
  
Let the rejoicing begin!  


* * *

{_the minister had very messy handwriting_}  
**Minister of Magic**   
  


Ginny handed the Daily Prophet back to Hermione with her mouth hanging open. "Oh, Hermione..."


	2. Muggleborn Females

**Betrothal**

The mad crowd of a Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match wasn't an ideal place to think. Hermione was in a flurry of emotion. She was righteously angry and piteously terrified. She had a weighty law tome open on her lap, but her fingers were shaking too much to turn the pages, and her thoughts were too jumbled to read a sentence. She seriously doubted that anyone could force her to marry, but she knew that they could use the decree to make her life a living hell.

"Betrothal, betrothal, must be in here somewhere..." she muttered. "Ah, here it is." She took a deep breath. Her eyes refused to focus on the words.

"Miss Granger," came a crisp voice from behind her. "Admirable as your devotion to your studies is, this is not the time for reading. You should be cheering on your friends." It was McGonagall."

"Sorry, Professor," she murmured contritely.

A long bony hand plucked the book from her lap. "What's this?" McGonagall's eyes narrowed in concern. She oh'd softly as she read the title. "Come to my office after the game, Miss Granger. No one can hurt you between now and then, I'm certain. Enjoy yourself."

Hermione sighed.

  
  


Gryffindor won, 180 to 40. The Slytherin chasers were worthy of worry, but Ron handled them well. He was practically dancing in the changing rooms, singing at lunch, and then humming in potions. He and Harry were working on their term-long project - poly-juice potion.

"Psst. Weasel."

"Shove off, Malfoy."

"5 points from Gryffindor. I don't permit whispering in my class, Mr. Weasley."

Ron huffed.

"Psst."

"Five more points."

"That wasn't me Professor Snape, that was Malfoy!"

"Fine. Detention. Both of you." Professor Snape smirked. "My office. 7 pm."

Draco glared at him.

  
  


Professor Snape's door was closed. Ron and Draco were both standing with their backs against the wall waiting for it to open. Draco's arms were crossed casually, and he was wearing the same cocky smirk he had worn all day. Every time Ron glanced over at him, he grinned. 

"Though of a good way to earn those galleons yet, Ron?"

"I'm going to ignore you now."

"Giving up, are you?"

"Good game today," Ron responded, giving Malfoy a smirk of his own.

"Yeah, too bad they don't pay you for it, eh?"

"Money doesn't buy happiness," Ron growled through his teeth.

"Tell that to Granger."

"Stay away from Hermione. She's not interested in an arse like you."

"400 galleons say it doesn't matter if she's interested or not."

"What?" Now Ron was genuinely perplexed.

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a clipping from the Prophet. "Well, you had to find out eventually,"he said with a smile.

Ron glanced through the paper. "Bloody hell" he whispered.

"Bloody hell is right," Draco replied.

"Tell Snape I went to the hospital wing," Ron commanded.

"Yeah, right, Weasley!" Draco called after him. Ron was already too far down the corridor to hear him.

  
  


Rain was pouring down steadily on the Burrow, but the pleasant pattering. Arthur Weasley sat bolt upright and slammed his head on the curio shelf his loving had hung over their bed just a few days ago. "What is it? Who's there?" he whispered.

"Someone's at the door, Arthur. Banging." Molly muttered.

"Banging, Molly?"Arthur groaned. "Are you quite sure?"

She grunted in reply.

Arthur threw on a dressing robe and grabbed his wand. He pushed past the knitted curtain that graced his bedroom door, strode through the tiny kitchen, and pointed his wand at the back door. "Who's there?"

"Dad, it's me! Let me in! It's cold."

Arthur dropped his wand in surprise. "Ron! What on- get in here. Molly!"

Ron stood awkwardly inside the door, dripping all over the carpet. "Wait, dad, don't call her yet. I need to talk to you."

"Oh. Er. All right then. Let's get you dry and we can sit down. Hot chocolate?"

All of Ron's winter clothes were at Hogwarts, so Arthur wrapped him son in his spare dressing robe. "Your mother can dry your clothes when we decide to wake her. She's much better at this sort of thing."

"Do we have to wake her? I don't really want her to know about this yet..."

"Well... we'll see. What's wrong, Ron?"

"It's about Hermione, dad."

Arthur's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Well, Ron... well, indeed... well, your mother and I will do what we can to help of course, but we will expect you to do the right thing for dear Hermione."

"You know what I'm talking about? And you think it would be the right thing?"

Arthur chuckled softly. "Well, Ron, we Weasleys are a passionate bunch, but we believe firmly in doing the right thing, especially when it comes to our women. Why your mother and I... but never mind. It all works out for the best, we wouldn't trade Bill - or any of you, really - for the world... I wouldn't have expected it of Hermione, though. Ah, well, you know what they say-"

"Dad. What are you talking about?"

"Er- you. And Hermione. And... oh." Arthur turned a deep shade of pink. "Say, I don't think we're talking about the same thing after all."

Ron, too, was beet red, but he was laughing deep in his gut. "You think I got Hermione pregnant? Dad, we aren't even going out yet..."

Relief washed over Arthur's face. "Oh, thank Merlin, I must say I wasn't ready for a baby quite yet..."

The two enjoyed a good laugh so loud that soon Molly appeared at the edge of the kitchen.

"My little Ronnie! what in heaven's name are you doing here? And how did you get here? And where are your clothes?"

"Er. flew. And... just there." Ron pointed to his clothes. "I fancied a chat with dad," he said sheepishly. "Actually, it's a bit pressing," he added, glancing significantly at his father.

"Right. Molly, would you mind drying off Ron's clothes while we have a bitof a chat?"

Molly pressed her lips together, then nodded. "Well, all right. I'll just take care of charming these, then I'll fix us a bit of warm stew ." She gathered up Ron's clothes and retreated into the washroom.

"Stew at midnight?" Ron asked.

"Your mother likes to feed people. It's her way of solving problems. Speaking of problems...?"

"Dad, haven't you heard about the new preservation thingy that the minister put into effect today?" Ron scowled when he said 'the minister', as though biting into a lemon.

"The Preservation Decree? Of course, Ron. It's a nasty business. The minister has yet to learn that if you try to please everyone, you'll end up pleasing no one." Arthur sighed softly. "He's got _a lot_ to learn, that one, I'm afraid."

"Dad, he can't really force the muggleborns to marry whoever picks them, can he?"

Arthur sighed again. "Yes and no, Ron. A betrothal is a magical contract, so of course it needs permission from two parties to be binding. Unfortunately, it doesn't necessarily require the permission of the two parties it involves. In the old days, betrothals were set up as early as birth by both parties parents. Some of the very old families still practice this."

"So if you and mum wanted me to marry someone, you could just strike an agreement with her family?"

"Well... no. Not anymore. As you're of age now, Ron, no one can enter into a contract for you."

"So then it's okay... because Hermione's of age, right. So no one can force her a contract, right?" Ron asked quickly.

Realization dawned in Arthur's eyes. "Hermione... of course, I see now why you came. Hermione has two strikes against her, Ron. She's a muggleborn, and she's a female. Muggleborn's are all right under some of the newer laws. But females are still... well, property of their fathers, until they are marrried. And muggleborn females, at least those with muggle fathers, are property of the ministry."

"You're kidding!" exclaimed Ron.

"I'm afraid not. It's one of the many reasons why I am working where I am. Muggles don't have any kind of legal status in the ministry. They can't enter into agreements without sponsorship from the minister himself. They can't hold jobs in our shops or participate in our government."

"But squibs can, can't they?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No it doesn't."

Ron dropped his head. He had a brief memory of a flashing "S.P.E.W." button and, for just a moment, understood what Hermione was trying to do. Then he sat up suddenly."

"But, wait, dad, that's why I came. I think Hermione's in trouble."

"Oh, Ron, I seriously doubt anyone is going to snatch her up from you quite yet." Arthur chuckled.

Ron brushed this aside. "Malfoy."

"Draco's not even out of school yet. He wouldn't-"

"He would. He _is_. He's been hounding her at school, and he told me that he was working on getting the galleons already. And all he'd really have to do is ask his mum for them, she's got loads of money. Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Well, I wouldn't worry about the galleons. Draco won't be able to get them from his parents. A brideprice has to be money that the man earned for himself. The contract won't work, otherwise."

"That's excellent." Ron seemed to breathe easier. "I can trace my line back 11generations, right?"

Arthur studied his son carefully. "Ron, what are you asking me?"

"I'm not going to let Malfoy get his slimy hands on her. I'm going to get her first."

Arthur sucked in a deep breath. "Does Hermione know this?"

"No. I'm not going to tell her. I don't want her worrying about it. I don't think she knows about the decree. I'm not going to force her to marry me or anything. I'm just going to keep her safe until you can get the law changed."

"Well..." Arthur didn't seem to know what to say to this. "I'll do my best, Ron."

At this, Molly scurried in and wrapped her arms around Ron, nearly choking him into a hug. "I' so proud of you, Ron. It's so much like something your father would have done."

_Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews!  
Lisa - I'm so flattered that you find my characters to be all right. They are the shining stars of J. K. Rowling's work. I adore them, and adore writing about them.  
Honey Bee 80 - Thank you! I can not claim the idea for the story, but I'm glad you enjoyed it so far.  
S. C. Hardy - Thank you... I think! :)  
Merryday - Thanks much!!  
Seakays - Thanks! For once I actually have the story plotted out ahead of time. It's fun in my head. I hope it actually turns out that way :)  
_


	3. Going for the Galleons

**The Betrothal**

Hermione sat on a hard wooden chair in front of Minerva McGonagall's desk. She was swinging her feet anxiously, waiting for her favorite professor's return.

"Forgive me for being late, Miss Granger. I had to go and-" she smiled thinly, "-discuss our victory with the opposing teams head of house."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at the image of Professor Snape's sullen face sagging in defeat. "I completely understand, Professor."

Professor McGonagall sat down at her desk. "Now. Out with it."

"Out with what?"

"What's haunting you, Miss Granger? Reading a law book at a very important quidditch game is out of character - even for you."

"Didn't you hear about the new decree that went into effect today, Professor?"

McGonagall's eye twitched. "Unfortunately, I did."

"Well, there are a lot of muggleborns here at Hogwarts who are already of age, Professor. Including me. And there are a lot of purebloods here, too, including Malfoy."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise, but said nothing.

"And I, well, I'm not exactly ready to get married, Professor. I want to finish school."

"Has Mr. Malfoy recently asked you to marry him, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked bluntly.

"No, but-"

"Then I fail to see what you are worried about.

"Professor, he's been making eyes at me all day. Ginny noticed it, too. And he's been whispering my name when I walk by and - well, I'm a bit nervous, you see."

"And?"

"And, well, if all he would have to do is ask his mum for four hundred galleons..."

"Miss Granger, it is unlike you to be so poorly informed. Might I suggest an extra credit project?"

"Professor?"

"A foot and a half on betrothal in this century. I'll expect it on my desk." Professor McGonagall smiled slightly at her favorite student. "I promise you, Miss Granger, you'll be all right until then. All right?"

"All right."

* * *

In potions, Ron failed miserably to identify a simple concealment concoction and spilled a small jar of eel eyes all over his desk. He lost thirty points for Gryffindor, and was called up to Professor Snape's desk after class. He was expecting the worse.

"Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, you and Mr. Malfoy were under the impression that my detentions are attendance-optional?"

"No, sir, I..."

"Well, you were wrong. I will expect the both of you at my office, seven sharp."

"Yes, sir."

"Every night this week."

"Yes, Professor Snape."

  
  


"Why the hell did you skive off detention last night?

"Was going to ask you the same thing."

"None of your business," Malfoy sneered.

"Same answer, then," Ron said casually.

"Detention is not a social club, gentlemen. Please save your chatter. Malfoy, I seem to remember you producing a usable strengthening solution, so I would appreciate a double batch. Weasley, assist him. I have business elsewhere, but I will return in an hour. You had better be finished by then."

The two worked in an uncivil union. Malfoy took the professor's words at face value, taking charge of the potion and delegating any demeaning task to Ron. Ron found himself juicing beetles and sectioning heartstring on command without giving anything much thought. He was focused on one thing - well, four hundred things really.

"-and the barkeep at the Hog's Head was a chum of my dad's in school, so I've already got a pledge from him if I agree to take out the trash. He'll give me fifty galleons at least, I'm sure." Malfoy was taking advantage of Ron's silence to gloat.

"At least," Ron muttered complacently.

"You haven't given up already, have you Weasley? Won't be much fun if you aren't even going to try."

Ron sighed.

The dungeon door burst open and Snape strode through. He peered sulkily into the cauldron and nodded crisply. "Far too orange, Mr. Malfoy, and it's practically gelled. Still, Madame Pomfrey must be served. You can go."

The two boys stood to leave.

"Not you, Weasley," he snapped. "I need you to pour the solution into vials and deliver them to the Hospital Wing."

"But..."

"Mr. Malfoy has homework to finish."

"So do..."

"Silence, Mr. Weasley."

Malfoy gave Ron a parting look of glee and a wink. Angrily, Ron began to dip vials into the steaming orange substance and to sloppily cork them.

"Careful, Mr. Weasley. Every drop is valuable."

When Ron had finished bottling the strengthening solution, he strode dejectedly towards the hospital wing. It was past midnight. He had hoped to spend the evening brainstorm some way of earning galleons, but now he was unlikely to even finish his homework.

He tapped lightly on the door to the hospital wing.

"Come in."

He wondered fleetingly if Madame Pomfrey ever slept.

"Mr. Weasley, you have a delivery for me? Ah, ten vials, that's excellent. Just the right color, too. Excellent. Just a moment, please." She dug in the pocket of her apron. "One galleon per vial, that's ten galleons. Well done. Give my regards to Professor Snape."

Ron stammered. "He didn't mention carrying payment, maybe he wants you to give it to him yourself..."

"Nonsense, Weasley. Professor Snape likes his payment immediately. It's a little out of custom to do business on school grounds, but there's no better potions master in Hogsmeade. I don't like my potions second-rate. Run along, now. I want to sleep."

Ron bristled angrily as he ran back toward the dungeons. This was turning into the longest detention of his life.

He banged on the door to Professor Snape's classrom.

"What?"

"I have your galleons from Madame Pomfrey."

"What are you talking about Mr. Weasley?"

"Your payment. For the strengthening solution."

"The headmaster does not allow us to do business in school, Mr. Weasley. I can't imagine what you are talking about."

"But she..."

The door opened just a crack, and Snape's terrible dark eyes peered out. "Whatever she gave you, Weasley, I suggest you _keep it to yourself_."

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Ron settled into a squishy armchair in front of the fire. He pulled the coins disbelievingly out of his pocket and cradled them in his hands. The firelight glinted off of their golden surfaces, reflecting his face and the room over and over again. He caught a glimpse of his own lips curved into a smile.

What he was holding in his hands was more than just ten galleons. It was his first glimmer of hope.

* * *

_**

The Sexist, Biased, and Extremely Oppressive Institution of the Betrothal as Practiced in the Supposedly Modern Wizarding World

**_

The betrothal of two wizards is somewhat similar to a muggle engagement. The two are not permitted by law to live together or to consumate their relationship. Their union is considered an intention to marry, and they are set apart for each other. Each is contractually obligated to abstain from romantic or physical relationship with others of the opposite sex. 

Their union is not considered a marriage, although somehow a seperation of the two is considered a divorce. A witch who has been betrothed and released is often looked upon by a certain class of wizarding families as 'damaged goods'. This is extremely unfair and sexist, because a wizard in the same exact situation will be looked upon with grace. 

Betrothal would be considered extremely old-fashioned in the muggle world. The pair can be of any age. In some pure-blooded wizarding families, children are still betrothed from birth. These children are not allowed to fall in love with anyone else, under any circumstance. Their marriages are marriages of convenience and gain. For example, a well-known family with powerful magical tendencies but little wealth may may marry with a family less powerful in magic but with many land holdings. These arrangements are meant to benefit both families, though it abandons the unfortunate children into cold and loveless marriages. 

The worst part about a betrothal is the amount of control (over the intended witch, naturally) the contract gives the wizard, or the wizard's father if he is not of age. The wizard can and may forbid his intended to seek refuge in the muggle world, and wizarding law will take his side if she does try to run away (for further information, see Matrimonial Decree #57). He may forbid her to cut her hair, use certain glamours, or hold a job. Worst of all, he can keep her from continuing her education. Although none of these prohibitions have been used since the early seventeenth century, their presence in current law is deeply disturbing. 

The latest decree set forth by our esteemed Minister of Magic has been met with surprisingly mixed reactions. Some witches with whom I myself have spoken seem to find betrothals very romantic. "I hope that someone chooses me," says L. B. of Gryffindor. Meanwhile, P. P. of Slytherin assures us that "I myself am already betrothed to a very honorable young man. Muggleborns ought to be very honored to be extended this... honor. Not that anyone would choose you, H." (Names have been ommited for professionalism, but quotes remain unaltered).

Our new Minister of Magic seems to honestly consider his new decree a good thing. He believes he is solving two problems. First, he recognizes that the intermarrying between pureblooded families is beginning to causea weakening of magic blood. Although no pureblood families are willing to admit this aloud, this idea has been circulating for at least two generations. By introducing muggleborn blood into these families, the minister believes (and I do agree with him on this) that their magic will be strengthened again. This is very against everything that the purebloods believe in, but most of them know it to be true all the same. For some of them, a betrothal will be a way for them to give new strength to their families without admitting that they were wrong. The ministers decree makes the muggleborn witches property of the family, so they aren't risking losing the control they prize so highly.

Secondly, the minister recognizes that the tension between the purebloods and the muggleborns is becoming a disruption of the peace (his words, not mine). He seems to see this as a bridge, to welcome muggleborns into wizarding high society. I, for one want nothing to do with anyone who would take advantage of something like this. I shall be writing to the minister myself.

* * *

"Well researched, Miss Granger, though seriously biased. Are you really going to write to the minister?"

"I already have, Professor. I don't think he realizes what he's doing."

"I quite agree with you."

"I did find out in my reading that they have to earn the money on their own, so I feel a bit better. I doubt Malfoy will be able to work that hard. But, Professor..."

"What is it Miss Granger?"

"Well, I was wondering if there was anyway that I could - I don't know, if there is anyone that could, er, pay my way in the meantime. Like, if there were an unmarried professor, or someone that you knew, or..."

Professor McGonagall looked up from the parchment and pursed her lips. There was an emotion in her eyes that Hermione could not place. "Miss Granger, I have a confession to make to you. When we spoke a few days ago, I wasn't taking this very seriously. Unfortunately, circumstances have forced me - and some of your other professors - to become more involved. There is more at work here than you know. The headmaster has forbidden us to speak with the students directly, because the more light that is shone on this decreee, the more possibility of damage it could make. Suffice it to say that your situation is the least of our concerns. I don't mean to be harsh, Miss Granger, but there are worse things than having Malfoy keep you from sitting the exams this year. And you know as well as I do that that would be a terrible thing indeed."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not allowed to speak of it to you. But think deeper for a moment."

Hermione shook her head.

"Miss Granger. Think. There are muggle-born witches out there who don't even know that they are witches yet."

A soft oh of surprise escaped from Hermione's lips.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Don't repeat this to anyone, Miss Granger, but your Headmaster is currently affianced to an adorable 6-year-old named Sarah Smith. And Professor Snape..." she shook her head and smiled slightly. Then she sighed. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but you're going to have to weather this. Hopefully we'll be able to get this law changed before anything serious happens. I will be watching both you and Malfoy very carefully."

"Thank you, professor." 

_Author's notes: Wheee! I'm glad you guys are enjoying it so far.  
Lily -Michelle - Of course I agree with you that it would be beastly for poor Hermione to have to marry Draco. The question is, can Ron really get the galleons before Draco does?  
gillian - stupid but sweet, so true. That's why we love him. That's why we love all men, really.  
Georgia - Thanks much, I didn't know that anyone liked my other Draco story. That will teach me to try and give him a little sympathy. I'd be happy to show you the original story, but to be honest I don't feel comfortable here. I can't really vouch for the ratings of the other stories. if you want to shoot me and e-mail I could send you the stories that way. If you don't feel comfortable with that, let me know in another review and I will find another way to get them to you.  
Spikerules - Thank you, I will try!  
Emmylou - Thanks, I'm so flattered! I'm actually following that Dudley story of yours. Now -that- was an original idea!  
Lissa - Thanks! Don't worry, Ron will save the day eventually. He can't help it; it's in his personality.  
S. C. Hardy - Yeah, it makes my stomach churn as well, which makes it a bit hard to write it in a plausible way. But it makes for an interesting plot, anyway...  
Me221 - Thanks! I've never tried to chase a plot bunny before. I like it so far.  
Sue - Thanks, that was my favorite part. It just seemed so Arthur.  
Honey Bee - Yay, thanks!!   
ednyadove - Oh, I seriously doubt that Draco really fancies Hermione, don't you? Although I suppose it could happen. So far it seems like he just wants to make her life a bit more difficult.Or maybe it's deeper than that... ah, well, Ron to save the day...  
_


	4. Picnic By the Lake

**The Betrothal**

"Ginny."

"What?"

"I talked to McGonagall."

"Oh. How'd it go?"

"Not good. Apparently the Dea-"

"Shhhh! No talking in the library!"

"Sorry, Madame Pince." Hermione dropped her voice. "Anyway, Ginny, aparently the Death Eaters are trying to betroth muggle witches who haven't even got their Hogwarts letters."

"That's terrible!"

"I know. But Dumbledore and them caught on, so they're trying to betroth them all first. Professor McGonagall told me that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape are both already taken."

"I told yo, Hermione, you should talk to my brothers. We're a pure-blooded family, too, you know. We don't flaunt it like others, but-"

"I can't talk to your brothers. They're all dating. I couldn't do that to them."

"They aren't all dating yet, Hermione."

"I told you, I'm not telling Ron. He'd go all bonkers on me and try to hex Malfoy or something. Besides, I don't want him feeling obligated to me."

"I supposed it hasn't occurred to you that he might actually care enough about you to want to protect you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "This is Ron we're talking about, Ginny."

"Hermione-"

"Ginny. Promise me you won't tell him."

Ginny sighed. "I promise."

* * *

After a full week of detention with Snape, Ron had earned sixty galleons. At first he thought fate was on his side, and Madame Pomfrey or Professor Snape had simply had a miscommunication. But things got better as the week progressed. Professor McGonagall had given him seven sickles on the sly for picking up her wand when it slipped out of her hand during Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick enlisted him to straighten up after the first years first attempts at summoning, and emptied his middle desk drawer into Ron's hands (2 galleons, 23 sickles, and 437 knuts). Rubeus Hagrid was the least tactful of all. He had developed a reccuring habit of slipping a galleon into Ron's hand everytime he said "God Bless You" when Hagrid sneezed.

If Malfoy noticed these partialities, he was saying nothing. If anything, he had become more boastful as the weeks progressed. He updated Ron everytime he earned more gold. He would elbow Ron in the hall and mutter numbers in his ear, or sneeze right in the middle of potions and slip his number right into the sneeze. Crabbe and Goyle found this infinitely amusing.

In a panic, Ron had done what every Weasley does when they need money - well, every Weasley but the twins, perhaps. He had gotten a job. Special perission was granted from Dumbledore, and Ron was sneaking out of school every evening to sweep the floors and count the merchandise at Zonko's. It wasn't glamorous or particularly fulfilling, but Ron was thrilled by the chink of gold at the end of every week. This new pleasure took the edge off of his exhaustion - and nearly distracted him from the fact that he was beginning to fall behind in every class.

"Ron! Ron, wait up!"

It was time for lunch, and Ron's stomach was rumbling painfully. The last thing he wanted to do was slow down. But he knew that voice. It was Hermione - Hermione in a good mood. Too rare to miss. He slowed down to match her pace. Her hair was tied back in a bun today - her all-business look. She wore her hair like that when she had Things To Do. Usually, it has fallen down around her face by the time she had actually gotten done - but Ron liked it like that, too. She was stuffing too many books into too small of a bag.

"Oh. Hey you," he greeted her.

"My name is Hermione." She pulled the flap tight over her bag and glared at him.

"Right. Sorry. I always forget." He flashed her his best 'Am I in trouble yet?' smile.

"Sure you do." Her expression softened slightly. "Hey, Ron, where have you been this week?" She hitched the bag up a little higher on her shoulder.

"Here, give me that." He took the bag from her and slung it easily over his own shoulder. "What do you have in here? A small planet?"

"Books, Ron, what else?"

"You shouldn't be carrying so many books around. You'll wear yourself out. At least shrink them or something."

"It's fine, Ron. I have very strong shoulders. Ron. I asked you a question. You're ignoring me."

He nodded slightly at a passing portrait. The tall greying witch blew him a kiss. "Hmm. What was the question again?"

"Where have you been?"

"Why?" He poked her. "Miss me?"

"You wish." Hermione stuck her tongue out at the same portrait. "Just getting a little tired of watching your sister snog Harry at the breakfast table."

"What?" He paled. "They're snogging? Already? Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm joking, Ron."

"Merlin's wand, Hermione. Not funny."

"Ron."

"What?" 

"Where. Have. You. Been."

"Fine, nosy. If you must know, I've been working."

"Schoolwork?"

"What, without you? Not bloody likely."

"Quidditch, then?"

He smiled lightly and shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, sure, Quidditch. Well, you know how lousy I am, really. I need all the practice I can get."

"Oh, what a load of rubbish. Tell the truth."

"Just working, Hermione. In Hogsmeade."

"But we're not allowed to go to Hogsmeade during the week."

"I have special permission."

"What for?"

"Well, Hermione," he said, speaking slowly as though to a child. "You see, that's what grown-ups do when they need money."

"Ron," she said sharply, ignoring his tone. "What on earth do you need money for?"

"Ah, that, my dear Miss Granger, I can not tell you."

"Are you in trouble, Ron?"

"No." He pushed open the doors of the Great Hall and strode towards the Gryffindor table.

"You'd tell me if you were - right?"

"Right."

"Wrong," Ginny declared as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Nothing. I'm quizzing Harry. Harry, try again. Concentrate."

"What are you quizzing him on?" Hermione suddenly looked interested.

"Transfiguration, Hermione, but you can't help him."

"Oh. I don't have transfiguration anyway."

"Yeah." Ron rolled his eyes. "Only because you tested out of it this year."

"Well, it was that or go back to using the Time Turner. I had a lot of classes to take this year."

"Hey, speaking of Transfiguration, will you quiz me as well, Gin?"

"Why? I thought McGonagall was letting you off for today," Harry said.

"Why would McGonagall let Ron off an exam?" Hermione demanded.

"Well, he hasn't got to study much, has he?" Ginny answered reasonably.

"Gin, I study plenty," Ron insisted, his ears going red.

"_Why isn't Ron studying?_"

"Never _mind_, Hermione. I've had a lot of practice for Quidditch."

"What, and Harry hasn't? Isn't he seeker?"

"Yeah, well... some of us aren't so naturally gifted as Harry, that's all."

"No... no," Hermione reasoned. "It's not Quidditch at all, is it? You're "working" every night, aren't you, Ron? Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing." Ron was stone faced.

"Only if something was going on, you'd think I would be the first person to know... not the last." She jumped to her feet. "See you later."

"Where are you going?"

"Library," said Ginny and Harry in unison. Hermione glared at them.

"I'm coming with you," Ron said. His face was expressionless. "I told you, I don't want you off by yourself."

Hermione sighed. "Whatever you want, Ron." She looked over at him, lifted her eyebrows, then grabed a pair of stoat sandwiches. She wrapped them in a bit of parchment and stuffed them in a robe pocket.

They walked towards the library. As usual, the female portraits snickered as they walked past. "I don't really want to go to the library," Hermione admitted. "Fancy a picnic?"

Ron lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Sure, if you do."

"Yeah, I do. It's a nice day. I want to go outside."

They walked only as far as the lake, following the water's edge until they were just hidden from sight by the curve of a hill. Hermione sat down in the long, browning grass, looking out towards the dull surface of the water. "Hey, Ron..."

"Yeah?" He sat down beside her and stretched out his long legs.

"Remember fourth year, the second task? When Harry had to-"

"With the merpeople. Of course I remember." He lifted his face towards the sky and chuckled. "Fought off those bloody savages single-handedly-"

"Yeah, yeah, Ron, I heard the story in fourth year. You really shouldn't talk about merpeople like that. Sandwich?" She pulled the wraped sandwiches out of her robe pocket and offered him one."

"Fanks," he said through a mouthful of bread and meat.

"Finish chewing. Have you ever wondered who yours would be?"

"My what?"

"Your, um - the thing you would miss the most, or whatever. You know, like you were Harry's. Which is really cute, by the way, though you should have heard what Malfoy was saying behind your back." She snickered. "Actually, I'm glad you didn't hear..."

"And you can talk, Her-my-own. How is Vicky doing these days?"

"It's not funny, Ron. I really thought he fancied me. I don't want to talk about it."

"Sorry. You never did tell us what happened in Bulgaria."

"Never mind, Ron."

"Would it help if I go kick his arse?" He smiled gently at her.

"Well, it would be funny," she answered with a slight smile in return.

"Funny, eh? Why is that?"

"Cuz you'd end up with a black eye and a broken rib, that's why."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

"Because he weighs twice what you do, Ron."

"Yeah, well, he might kick my arse at muggle dueling, but he could never beat me at Charms. I-"

"Come off it, Ron," she interrupted. "You don't have to beat anybody up."

"Sorry," he answered penitently. Then he surprised her by wrapping his arm loosely around her shoulder. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Anyway, Viktor would never have been the thing that I would miss the most," her voice sounded strange ringing in the small space between them. "He was nice, all right, and I liked that he fancied me... it made me feel special."

"Harry, right?"

"Hmmm?" She cautiously laid her head down on her shoulder.

"It would be Harry, right? I mean, he's your best friend."

"Harry's all right, Ron. And, yeah, he's my best friend, that's true. But you're my best friend, too."

"But we fight too much, right?"

"We don't fight all that much, Ron, honestly."

"Sure we do. We've already fought once today and I've only seen you, what, twice?"

"Ron."

"What?"

"Shut it. I'm trying to make a point here."

"Sorry."

"Where was I?"

"Something about Harry."

"Actually, you were talking about Harry. I was _trying_ to talk about you."

"What? No, you were saying that Harry was all right, and you-"

Hermione laughed unexpectedly and turned to look right into Ron's eyes.

"You really are a clueless idiot, sometimes, Ron."

"I'm not, I just-"

"I guess I'm just going to have to make this easy on you, aren't I?"

"What?" He felt himself going red again, though he wasn't sure why. Suddenly Hermione was coming at him. Half her bun had fallen down in the October breeze and he felt the soft tendrils brush against his cheek. Then her lips were touching his, softly, but very definitely. He could hear his heart pounding way up in his ears.

"Hmmmm?" she murmured.

"Oh," he answered. "I, er... I thought you were mad at me." He touched her cheek lightly with his fingers.

"I was," she answered, and he could see a blush spreading across her cheek from where his fingertips touched the pale skin. "But now I'm not. Is that okay?"

"It will be," he answered. The he kissed her, his own kiss this time, longer, and more sure. He could feel her shivering slightly and he wrapped his arms around her neck. She buried her face in his shoulders.

"You're going to be late for class," he whispered.

"So're you," she answered without looking up.

"Nah. McGonagall really did let me off."

"I don't suppose you want to tell me why?"

"Is that what this all about, Hermione? Trying to get me to crack?" He laid down in the long grass and grinned up at the sky.

"Is it working?" she asked with a sly wink.

"Yeah. All right. What about class?"

"Actually, I'm supposed to be studying for Arithmancy this period. Our exam is tomorrow. We don't even have to report to class. And as I already know all of it... I'll be all right. This once."

"Wow, you're really curious. Head Girl skiv-"

"Don't say it."

"All right, I won't. Look, if I tell you... you can't panic or anything, all right?"

"Panic? Ron, seriously, are you in trouble?"

"No," was his firm answer. "Don't ask again. And please don't interrupt me, because I'm going to be very embarassed, and if you make me stop half way, I can't promise to start up again, all right... and you can't be mad, either, because-"

"Ron."

"Right." He twisted a piece of grass into his fist and squinted.

"Couple of weeks ago, I got into it with Malfoy. Don't make that face at me, it wasn't a fight or anything like that. He was just coming after me about you, and about money, and the like, and I didn't know why."

"About me and money?"

"Well, it wasn't the first time, Hermione. Draco knows that I - well, that I... er, that I fancy you," he finished very quicky. "And you know how much he enjoys having any button to push, so-"

"So you _do_ fancy me, then?" she asked eagerly.

"Hermione, were we not just snogging half a minute ago?"

"Yes, but-"

"Right, then. I didn't know what he was on about, but it lasted all day, and we landed detention together with Snape."

"I remember that day! That was the day you skived off detention and landed yourself a week's worth, right?"

"_Hermione._"

"Sorry," she answered in the tiniest voice imaginable.

"When we got to detention, Malfoy showed me this article from the Prophet about a new law the ministry had just passed. It was about muggleborns and marriage, and-"

"Malfoy showed that to you?"

"You know about it?"

"I do _read_, Ron. I can't believe you didn't know about it. I remember thinking that Malfoy was going to try and-"

"He is, Hermione."

She went very quiet, then. "Damn," she said finally.

"Yeah. You said it."

There was a long, awkward silence between them. Ron felt a warm drop land on his neck. He sat up straight. "You're not crying, are you?" he asked quickly.

Hermione shook her head and swiped angrily at her eyes. "No. Sorry. Go on."

Ron swore softly. "Look, I'm not going to let him near you. I've been working my arse off, and I've nearly enough gold. There's no way Malfoy's earned as much as me. Some of the teacher's have been giving me odd jobs, and Dumbledore's been letting me sneak off to Hogsmeade at night to work at Zonko's a bit... blimey, Hermione, please don't cry."

Hermione stared at him, stunned. "You've been... oh, Ron, that's... the nicest thing..."

"...Really, you aren't angry? Only McGonagall warned me that you might not be as pleased as I'd hoped, because of the law and how, er evil it was, she said you didn't want anything to do with it..."

"Oh, dear."

"What? It's all right, Hermione, McGonagall knows everything, and she's promised not to-"

"No- Ron, look."

A large black owl with matte black feathers was soaring towards them. It lighted on the grass next to Hermione and held up it's leg for message retrieval.

"Blimey - I've seen that owl before, Hermione, that's..."

"I know, Ron." She unrolled the little parchment and shooed the owl away. "There won't be any answer," she told it. "Get out of here.

The parchment was addressed to: _Mrs. Draco Malfoy_


	5. Green and Silver

**The Betrothal**

_Mrs. Hermione Jane Malfoy,_

_The Ministry of Magic would like to extend its congratulations to you. A contract has been negotiated and enacted in your behalf with the Ministry by Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy as of this afternoon. From this moment forward, you may consider yourself betrothed to this young man. This is a time for joyous celebration, and the Ministry anticipates that you will make the most of this opportunity to unite the worlds of pure-blooded nobility and muggle-born opporunity./p  
  
It is our duty to remind at this time of the laws which apply to a magically betrothed woman like yourself. Please remember that as of this moment, you are considered emancipated from your birth family. All previously seperate assets are now considered joint. You may consider all your needs provided for by your betrothed and his birth family. Your betrothed will not be considered emancipated until you have been marriage in a ministry-recognized ceremony, which may not take place until you have both left Hogwarts. As such, you will be considered a part of this family. You may return with your betrothed to his birth family for the holidays._

_While the ministry encourages and anticipates affection between a young couple such as yourself, we do remind you that it is not permitted to consummate the relationship before the wedding ceremony-_

"As if I would want to... _to consummate_ with that slimy, grimy, evil little ferret! I can't read anymore, Ron, it's too awful. Throw it away."

"You sure you don't want to read it all? Maybe there's a loop hole?" Ron appeared stricken.

"No, I've read it all before in books. Just throw it away. I want to go back to the school."

Ron frowned, folded the letter in two, and slipped it into his pocket. "Okay if we walk back together, you reckon?"

"I don't care if its okay or not, Ron." Hermione sighed and reached out for his hand. He slipped it around hers and squeezed gently, reassuringly. He didn't know what to say.

"Sorry if I snapped at you," she murmured. Her voice was shaky and small.

He swallowed. "Sorry I... let you down," he choked.

"What are you talking about, Ron?" she asked, her voice daring him.

"I tried so hard to get the money first. I guess I should have known Malfoy would get it first, his whole family's rich as kings, and my family..." he trailed off with an embarassed shrug. Hermione glanced over at him. His eyes were downcast. He was looking at his boots - they were second-hand, she knew. She had helped him apply a leather patch into the toe before school started.

"I love your family, Ron. I'd be proud to be a Weasley someday."

"Your mum, well, all right, she's a bit loud, but Ron, she always feeds us, all of us, and always 'til we're really full, you know? And at Christmas time, she never forgets any of us, especially Harry, because she knows he hasn't got anybody else. She's brilliant. And your dad-"

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, what about my dad?"

"I'd like to be like him someday."

"Real funny, Hermione."

"I'm not kidding, Ron," she said fiercely. "Your dad believes in something and he keeps his job just because he believes in it. I'm sure there were loads of times when he could have took a more well-paying job, but it wouldn't have been meaningful or fulfilling. I know Percy says he has no ambition, but he's wrong. And your dad has put up with all kinds of criticism for it, well, he's just wonderful, isn't he?"

"You really think so?"

"Really and truly, Ron."

Ron sighed again. "But it doesn't matter. Draco still won."

"Oh, rubbish. He hasn't won anything. You'll just have to figure out how to get me out of this."

Ron squeaked, "Me?"

"Well, we'll figure it out together. All right, Ron?" Now it was her turn to squeeze his hand. "Let's go back, it's almost time to change classes. I'm not missing Defense Against the Dark Arts today."

"All right, Hermione."

They walked towards the castle together. Despite everything, Ron couldn't help but be blissfully aware of how good it felt to hold her hand. It was warm and solid and it made him feel... good. Despite everything. For a minute, he felt like he really could figure something out. He would find a loophole, or petition the minister - surely the minister of magic would understand that he and Hermione were meant to be together.

This good feeling lasted as long as it took them to reach the castle. Someone was waiting for them at the doors. Someone tall and pale and pointed.

"Granger, Weasel." His eyes went right to their interlocked fingers. Ron dropped his grasp like a hot coal. He could hear Hermione's breathing intensify.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I want to talk to you." He scowled. "Just you."

"I'm a bit busy right now. I've got to go to class."

"Skive off. I want to talk to you."

"You can't make her skip class, Malfoy."

"I can. The law says I can. Tell him," Draco nodded toward Hermione encouragingly.

"He can," she answered softly, refusing to look up at either one of them.

"Well, the law can't really stop me from staying here, can it?"

"Ron, I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Hermione-"

"Please explain to Professor Dumbledore why I'm not in class, Ron."

"But-"

"Just _go_, Ron." She still refused to look at him.

"All right," he answered, obviously hurt. "I'll catch you later, Malfoy," he said.

"Whatever, Weasel." Draco watched Ron retreat into the castle with a victorious expression. Then he turned his gaze to Hermione. "Granger. Guess I can't exactly call you that anymore, can I?" He grinned and reached out to touch one of the curls of brown hair that was resting on her cheek. "Just Malfoy doesn't sound right, though, does it? That's what you call me. What shall I call you, then?"

"Take your ferrety little paws off of me, Malfoy," she answered through clenched teeth. "Or I'll hex you into next Tuesday."

"Wouldn't really matter, would it?" he asked softly. "On Tuesday you'll still be my wife."

"I'm not and never will be your wife, Malfoy," she spat. "A legal technicality is calling me your betrothed but we are not married and we _never will be_ so get the idea out of your head right now."

"Don't get fresh with me, Granger," he snapped. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Wouldn't want to have to muzzle you... but then again... you might like that... something to think about, hmmm..?"

"Get your damned hands off of me, Draco," she growled. "Just because..." she shook loose from his grasp and stepped away, "...doesn't mean you're suddenly allowed to do whatever you want to me. You're not, you know, it says so right in the contract, not until we're married.."

"Just remember this, Granger... beloved," he lifted his eyebrows dangerously, "No one else is allowed to touch you _at all_. If I find you hand in hand with the Weasel again, I'll have him brought before the Wizengamot, and he'll be in Azkaban before you can say another word."

Hermione glared at him with a look of pure hatred. "You leave Ron alone, Draco, I mean it... you're lucky I made him go to class. He'd have torn you into pieces if he saw you right now."

"I'm not scared of the red-headed retard, if that's what you think," he answered. "So it's Draco, now, hmmm? Warming up a bit, are we?" His expression softened. "Try to relax a little, beloved... you might find you rather like belonging to me..." He snapped his fingers once. Hermione felt the warm clench of something encircling her neck.

"What is this? A bloody collar?"

"No, stupid. It's a choker."

"A what?"

"A choker. It's just a necklace, Hermione. It has the Malfoy family crest on it."

"How deliciously evil," Hermione answered sarcastically.

"It's a gift. It's extremely valuable. Pansy'll wet herself when she sees I gave it to you."

"Well, that's something, I suppose." Hermione rolled her eyes. She ran her fingers along her neck. "It feels awfully like a collar to me. How do you take it off?"

"Don't. I want you to wear it."

"It's not comfortable."

"That's a command, Granger," he answered hesitantly. "Wear it."

Hermione bit her lip. "Why are you doing this? I realize it's a brilliant chance to torment me, but aren't you going a little bit overboard? I don't get it."

He stepped closer to her now, until she was backed against the door. "First of all, beloved, like you say, it's a brilliant chance. Not to torment you, though. Not even Weasel-boy, really. It's mostly Saint Potter that I'm after. If you paid attention at all, you'd know that."

"Why Harry?"

"It's because of your precious Potter that my father's reputation is what it is, not to mention-"

"It's your father's own fault for being a deatheater, Malfoy. What a shame you're not bright enough to realise that and not repeat his mistakes."

"-and besides all that," he continued, cutting her off. "I don't know if you'd realised it, but aside from me you're the cleverest witch in our year."

"Yes, you are a clever little witch, aren't you," she murmured.

"-and our children will be absolutely perfect," he finished, ignoring her. "the new law makes you blood of my blood, so marrying me will make you a legal pure-blood. You ought to be proud."

"I don't care about blood."

"I don't understand that," he admitted.

"I don't care if you understand it or not."

Suddenly the huge door next to the swung open and a tall, black figure stepped out of it. "Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger. What are you doing out of class?"

"Professor Snape!" Hermione saw a moment's panic in Draco's eyes. "We were... we were discussing our contract."

"What contract?" Snape asked coolly.

"The ministry has accepted my petition for betrothal, sir."

"To Miss Granger?"

"It's Malfoy now, sir. She takes my name immediately."

"I see." Professor Snape's gaze rested on her momentarily and his right eye twitched. "Congratulations, Mrs. Malfoy." He paused. "Welcome to Slytherin House."

Hermione felt her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. "Thank you, sir," she answered.

"However, that does not excuse you from being out of class. I ask again, Mr Malfoy, why are you out of class?"

Draco hesitated.

"Detention, then, with me, tonight, Mr. Malfoy, and-"

"Sir, it's not my fault, I-" Hermione pleaded.

"Miss Malfoy, you you return to class while I work out Mr. Malfoy's detention."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione could hardly believe her luck.

"Remember, you are a Slytherin now. Behave yourself according. Come and see me before dinner and I will give you a revised schedule of classes."

Hermione ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Professor Dumbledore was already teaching the class, but he merely nodded at her when she entered the classroom. Her usual seat beside Ron was still sitting empty. She sat down and pulled out her book.

Ron passed a small slip of parchment over to her. "_We're on page 35," _it read.

"_Thanks_," she wrote back.

"_Are you okay?_"

"_Pay attention, Ron._"

"_Did he hurt you?_"

"_NO._"

"_What's wrong?_"

Hermione glared at him.

He smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

She glared at him again, then let her eyes slowly travel down to her school uniform. The fingers of her left hand were finger her school tie.

His jaw droppped.

Her tie was green and silver.


End file.
